I woke up to a pitch black room. My eyes shot open from the nightmare I already can’t recall and I felt odd. The street light outside left a yellow glow over the neighborhood. I could just make out the house across the street and their porch light reflecting into my room. I woke up and my mouth felt heavy like it needed to unravel. My fingers hurt with imaginary pain of pressure being pushed against them and I didn’t know what to do. I had to be careful with my next moves. My breath came out fast and heavy. My chest expanded with the beat of my heart as I recalled how many breaths it would take to feel normal again. 257 my mind told me. I would feel normal again after 257 breaths with my tongue losing weight and my fingers losing pressure but that was a lie. I got heavier and heavier as I lay in my bed staring at the yellow streetlight paint the road. I was being choked. I had to get up. Had to stand. Or I would die. I would die in my bed counting my breaths with the weight of a thousand worlds sitting on my chest, on my tongue, holding my hands, choking me with 257 breaths left.